Dad, please dont come around any more! Every time you leave, Mum starts crying and she keeps on crying until morning.
I drift off, wake up, drift off again, and shes still sobbing. I ask her, Mum, are you crying because of Dad?
She says she isnt crying, just sniffling because she has a cold. Im old enough to know a cold doesnt make your voice sound like a river of tears.
John sits at a small table in a café on Oxford Street, stirring his coffee with a tiny spoon in a porcelain cup thats already gone lukewarm. His daughter, Hester, barely touches the vanilla icecream in front of her. In the glass bowl sits a little masterpiece: multicoloured truffles capped with a mint leaf and a cherry, all drizzled in dark chocolate. Any sixyearold would be drawn to that treat, but Hester doesnt. Shes been thinking since last Friday, when she decided it was time for a serious talk with her dad.
John remains silent for a long while, then finally asks, What are we going to do, love? Stop seeing each other altogether? How will I manage then?
Hester crinkles her little noseher nose is as cute as Mums, a bit like a tiny potatothinks a moment and replies,
No, Dad. I cant live without you either. Lets work this out. Call Mum and tell her youll pick me up from nursery every Friday.
Well go for a walk, and if you want coffee or icecream we can sit in the café. Ill tell you everything about how Mum and I live together.
She pauses, then adds after a minute,
And if you want to see Mum, Ill record her on my phone every week and show you the videos. Sound good?
John looks at his bright little girl, smiles faintly, and nods,
Alright, thats how well do it, sweetheart.
Hester exhales with relief and finally reaches for her icecream. Yet she hasnt finished the conversation; she still has to say the most important thing. When the coloured truffles sit on the edge of her nose, she licks the tiny mustache theyve formed, steadies herself and becomes almost adultlike, almost a woman who must look after her husband. Even though that husband is now an older manher dad turned twentyeight last weekshes already drawn a big 28 card for him in nursery, colouring it carefully.
Her face turns serious again, she lifts her eyebrows and says,
I think you should get married.
She adds a generous lie,
Youre not that old yet.
John chuckles at his daughters goodwill gesture and mutters,
Youll also say not that old.
Hester, full of enthusiasm, continues,
Not that old, not that old! Look, Uncle George, whos visited Mum twice already, is even a bit bald. Over here
She points to the top of her head, smoothing her soft curls with a fingertip. Then, seeing Johns sharp stare, she realises shes just spilled Mums secret.
She presses both hands to her lips, widens her eyes, a look of terror and confusion spreading across her face.
Uncle George? Which Uncle George keeps turning up at your door? The one Mums boss? John says, his voice rising enough for the whole café to hear.
I dont know, Dad Hester stammers, taken aback by his outburst. Maybe hes the boss. He brings me sweets and a cake for everyone.
She hesitates, weighing whether to tell her dad about the flowers shes been keeping for Mum.
John, fingers intertwined on the table, gazes at his hands for a long moment. Hester realises that, right now, he is making a very important decision in his life.
So the young woman waits, not hurrying her father with conclusions. She already suspects, or rather guesses, that men are set in their ways and need a gentle push toward the right choice. And who better to give that push than the woman who is one of the most precious people in his life?
John stays silent a little longer, then finally sighs loudly, lifts his head and says If Hester were a bit older, she would understand the tone he useslike Othello asking Desdemona a tragic question.
But she doesnt know Othello or Desdemona or any of those great lovers; shes simply gathering life experience, watching people rejoice and sometimes suffer over small things.
John finally says,
Come on, love. Its getting late; Ill take you home, and Ill have a word with Mum.
What he plans to discuss with Mum, Hester doesnt ask, but she knows its important and quickly finishes the icecream.
She then realises that what her dad is about to decide matters far more than any tasty treat, so she firmly plants her spoon on the table, slides off her chair, wipes the chocolate off her lips with the back of her hand, sniffs, looks straight at her dad and says,
Im ready. Lets go.
They dont stroll home; they almost sprint. Actually John runs, but he holds Hesters hand, and she feels like a flag fluttering in the wind.
When they burst into the lift lobby, the elevator doors close slowly, taking a neighbour up a floor. John looks slightly bewildered at Hester, then she looks up from below, asks,
So? Why are we standing here? Who are we waiting for? Were only on the seventh floor.
John scoops Hester up in his arms and darts up the stairs.
When his longtime nerves finally calm and Mum finally opens the door, John blurted out,
You cant do that! Which George are you talking about? I love you, and we have Hester
He doesnt let go of Hester, pulls Mum into an embrace, and Hester wraps both of them around the neck, closing her eyes because the adults are now kissing.
Thats how it goes sometimes: a small child comforts two bewildered adults, loving them both, while they love each other and cling to their pride and old hurts.
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